Don't Leave Me Alone
by Sphinxtamer
Summary: Arthur gets lost, Eames find him. Multiple times. Bad summary is bad.  Rated M mostly because the boys talk like I do and for the impending adult themes. Better safe than sorry, or whatever. Also, THIS IS SLASH. Arthur/Eames   For Nikki-chan
1. Lost

**AN**: Alright, so, this is the first chapter of my first ever fanfic. And yes, I realize it's obscenely short. The chapters after this get progressively longer. Honestly. The story is actually already written, I'm just in the editing process at the moment. And, seeing as I have no idea how this site works, you'll have to bear with me as I get used to it. Now, before my rambling turns out longer than the story, I'll just mention that I was basically forced into this by my friend, so, Nikki, this is for you. Uhm, enjoy, I suppose.

**Chapter 1**

"**Lost"**

The icy winter winds bit at Arthur's ears as he strolled down the snowy London sidewalk. Anyone else and it might have been considered wandering, but not with Arthur. Arthur did not wander. He just didn't. Even if he wasn't particularly familiar with his surroundings. Even if it was his first time in London. Arthur did _not_ wander. Arthur walked, he strolled, hell, he'd even been known to strut on occasion. But he most certainly never wandered. Ever. And he definitely was _not_ feeling lonely or sorry for himself this particular evening. Of all the things in the world, the one thing Arthur was _not_ was another lonely heart littered along an empty English street. Honestly.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his thin suit pants, he glanced around. His hotel had to be around here somewhere. He knew it had been just after that disgusting nightclub Eames had been going on about. And there was that club now. Right? But, hadn't he passed it a couple blocks back? Or was that a different seedy club?

Arthur was not lost. Not at all. Misplaced maybe, but definitely not lost.

Growling in frustration, he stopped to survey his surroundings more closely.

Where the hell was he? Why did all of London have to look exactly the fucking same? Why did Cobb have to choose the one city in the world he had never been to as the location for their next job? And why did he never listen to the forger when he actually said something important? Goddammit, where _was_ that hotel?

"A little lost, are we, Darling?"


	2. Babe

**AN**: So, the title loses something when the parentheses around the "Don't" get left out. It should be (Don't) Leave Me Alone, but ah well.

So, this is chapter two. Which is also short. Though, it is a bit longer. Yeah. I'll shut up now. Enjoy.

**Chapter 2**

"**Babe"**

Arthur whipped around, already imagining the challenging look on the brit's face and readying his own witty remark. He was ready this time. Prepared to easily tell Eames off and prepared for the man's inevitable teasing response. He was not, however, prepared for just how close behind him Eames was standing.

"Despite the fact that you look absolutely tempting with your mouth open like that, you close it before you catch some flies in there."

That did it. He was back and ready to function again.

With a quick snapping shut of his jaw, Arthur composed himself to shoot off a sharp warning glare.

"What do you want, Eames?"

Eames smirked. It was a devilish smirk; one Arthur had seen plenty of times before. He was quite familiar with this smirk, and the way it gently pulled on sinfully soft looking lips. He knew the way it made the forger's eyes twinkle. That's just to say that Arthur's seen millions of times. Because it's not like Arthur took special notice of such things. Especially not when pertaining to Eames.

"Can't one friend help another find his way?"

Arthur met the thief's playful gaze with a defiant one.

"I don't need your help, Eames."

The forger laughed in response.

"Is that so, love?"

The twinkle in his blue-green eyes was unmistakable. Those perfect, shining eyes. So full of life. They were what always gave him away to Arthur. No matter what role he played, or form he took, the eyes were always his. And when exactly had he started paying so much attention to Eames' eyes? It must have been for strictly professional purposes, because Arthur was nothing if not professional.

"Yes. That is so."

Arthur replied stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he hoped conveyed confidence.

"Oh? Because the hotel's a block behind you."

The thief was no longer trying to hold back his mocking laughter. Even still, the good natured humor was evident. Simply because of his eyes. Goddamn his eyes.

Arthur found himself simply glaring. He knew the other man had won, but he refused to acknowledge the victory with a response. Only Eames had the ability to elicit such behavior from him. And the man had it down to a fucking science.

"Let me walk you back, Darling, please."

There it was again.

That god awful annoying pet name.

"Don't call me that. And no, you can't walk me anywhere."

Arthur bit back coldly.

Eames looked hurt, but only for the briefest of moments –Arthur wasn't even sure he'd seen it- before his mask was back on display for all to see.

"What shall I call you then? Pet? Dear? Love? Oh, I know, something American. How 'bout 'Babe'?"


	3. Frowns

**AN**: And Chapter three. Also short. And that's why both this and the previous chapter were posted with the first one. But, from here on in, I'm going to update whenever I get around to it. Which, I promise you, won't be any more than a week between postings. (I have no life.) So, with that little tidbit, I give you "Frowns." Enjoy.

**Chapter 3**

"**Frowns"**

Of all the idiotic pet names in the world, none of them quite annoyed Arthur like "babe." Except maybe "baby," but, really, what was the difference?

Rolling his eyes and pulling his lips into a thin line, Arthur struggled to keep his mask of indifference in check.

"Just,"

He paused, as though summoning the patience to continue dealing with the other man.

"Just leave me alone, Eames."

He managed to force out calmly. Looking up, his gaze met that of the older man's. Almost immediately he realized this to be a mistake as he found himself captivated by those deep blue-green orbs twinkling invitingly in the light of the setting sun. The man's thoughts were visibly swirling behind them, the hidden brilliance that he had come to admire. He could stare into those eyes forever. Not that he wanted to. Not at all.

Desperate for something else to focus on, he cast his eyes downward. Another mistake, he quickly realized, as he just managed to catch the sight of Eames' pointed pink tongue sliding out to moisten his full lips. The same lips that were currently pulled into something that vaguely resembled a frown.

Arthur frowned in response.

Could Eames possibly be frowning?

No, he couldn't be. Eames was the one man he knew who _always_ had a smirk playing at his lips, the one who always looked as though he were in on some secret inside joke with life whilst the rest of us looked on in frustrated confusion. There was no way that the great Mr. Eames was frowning. It simply wasn't possible.

"Hmph. If I call you Arthur, will you let me walk you to the hotel? To be honest, I'm terribly lonely."

Arthur risked a glance back up to the forger's eyes, studying them, looking for any sign of unwelcome mischief, but found none.

Sighing, he began his walk back to the hotel.

"Fine. Just as long as you keep quiet, alright?"


	4. Silence

**AN**: This, obviously, would be chapter four. We're still in the obnoxiously short chapters, but there's not much I can do about that at this point. Right now, the plan is to update every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. That's the plan. But, I've never been good at sticking to plans. As should be evident by this being posted on Tuesday. I'm working on typing up chapters five through ten, and then it's on to editing and typing the rest of it. Which totals 20 chapters, if you were wondering. Okay, I'll stop now. Enjoy.

**Chapter 4**

"**Silence"**

The walk back to the hotel was relatively quiet, Eames actually complying with his request for the most part. Despite the walk only being about a block, Arthur couldn't help but be amazed that Eames could be that quiet for that long.

He was rather like a child, Eames. Always needing to be the center of attention, always needing to pull reactions out of those around him. Most of all, there was always that silent plea for approval, that desperate need to be liked, to be noticed, that only barely showed through his bright eyes.

He ought to get his mother to dress him, too, Arthur mused, chuckling lightly to himself at the thought.

His own three piece suit was immaculate, as always, but today saw Eames in yet another revoltingly colored shirt and brown jacket. The shirt tucked into strangely cut grey pants that clashed so horribly with his coat, and yet somehow managed to go so well with his shoes.

And even though Arthur detested every piece of it, he honestly couldn't imagine the man in anything else. In fact, he couldn't imagine him different in any way. He also had the sinking suspicion that he wouldn't _want_ the forger any other way. Not that he _wanted_ him at all.

Absolutely not.

"Darling?"

Apparently he'd spaced out, because he was now standing two doors down from the hotel, staring back at a smirking Eames. The other man's eyebrow raised in questioning amusement as he gestured to the entrance.

"Decided against going in, then?"

He asked, chuckling.

Arthur grimaced for barely a fraction of a second before schooling his features back into practiced aloofness.

"Didn't we come to some agreement about your ridiculous pet names for me?"

He said tightly, moving past the slightly shorter man and into the hotel's surprisingly elegant reception area.

Eames' shit eating grin was evident in his voice as he cheerily followed the point man inside.

"Did we? Hm, sorry, I don't seem to recall that. Awful memory, mine is."


	5. Drinking

**AN**: So, this one's a wee bit longer. Maybe you could tell? I don't mean to disappoint, but the next chapter is shorter again. And, while I hate to be a spoilsport, the story doesn't stay quite so "cute" for long. It was supposed to, but then it just decided to take off and get...angsty. Meh, you'll see for yourselves soon enough, but for now, enjoy chapter five.

**Chapter 5**

"**Drinking"**

Because they were working together, Cobb decided it would help if their rooms were right next to each other. Something that greatly frustrated Arthur, and immensely amused Eames. Another "convenient" thing, as Cobb put it, was that there was a door connecting the two rooms from the inside, much to Arthur's annoyance. The fact that Eames had found great pleasure in sliding little notes under it all evening the night before only served to annoy Arthur further. Seeing as he had just gotten off a ten hour flight with little sleep, Arthur found nothing cute nor amusing about Eames' doodles and letters. On the upside, it locked from Arthur's side, something he had noted gratefully as he had sunk into his bed for the night.

While there were some professional perks to their temporary living arrangements, Arthur didn't know if he'd be able to handle having Eames follow him to his room every night and wake him every morning with insistent knocking and overly energetic zeal. How a man could possibly be hyper at five in the morning after going to bed at midnight was beyond him. Sure, he could be _ready_ at five, but never happily. Or even all that willingly. Just because he was famous for being a "stick-in-the-mud" didn't mean he enjoyed it.

And now, he once again found himself in the elevator with the Brit. Then in the hall. And finally at his door, where the older man waited rather patiently for Arthur to unlock and open said door before inviting himself in. All very much to Arthur's absolute glee.

"Oh, yes, make yourself right at home, Eames."

Arthur ground out as he gripped at the last threads of his patience.

And Eames did just that, falling heavily into the nearest couch. Arthur was struggling to keep his calm, forcing himself to take a deep breath and shut his eyes, counting to ten, before turning sharply on his heel and exiting the room.

When he returned, now out of his suit and instead wearing charcoal lounge pants and a white tee, he found Eames still comfortably spread out on the couch, thumbing through a magazine Arthur wasn't even aware he had.

"Arthur, Darling! You're back!"

The man exclaimed upon spotting his younger companion. His eyes swept downward, taking in Arthur's attire before raising an amused eyebrow.

"What?"

Arthur asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious and crossing his arms defensively. Eames smiled.

"You own tee shirts? Arthur, love, are you secretly _normal_?"

He teased, sliding his legs off the couch, making room for Arthur to sit. He didn't. Instead, he locked his long legs in place and continued to glare.

"Unless you have some business here, Eames, you can leave now."

He could go to the bar. He could go to his room. Hell, he could go back to Mombasa, if he really wanted –though Arthur had a feeling he didn't want him to go that far-, just as long as he wasn't in Arthur's room looking so delicious it ought to be illegal.

Arthur mentally scolded himself for the thought, even as his eyes trailed down the other man's form, which was once again stretched out lazily over the couch.

"But Arthur!" He whined, "It's already past seven and I'm still sober! And I can't go out alone. I need _someone_ to drink with me."

His eyes grew huge as he begged, forming his face into what had to be a practiced puppy dog look. Arthur, however, held his ground, not speaking for fear that he may accidentally let the man stay. Instead, he glared daggers at the forger in hopes that he would suddenly mature and leave.

But, of course, he had no such luck.

"Please, pet? Just one drink."

Arthur thought it over for a moment.

It was only one drink. He wasn't going to get drunk and make a fool of himself, he was better than that. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. And how often did he have the chance to show off his expansive, and not to mention expensive, liquor collection anyway? Might as well have one drink. After all, it was only _one_ drink.

"Just one drink?"


	6. Pretty

**AN: **Alright, so SHORT CHAPTER IS SHORT. And, I honestly think this is my least favorite chapter, but ah well. So, short chapter gets short author's note. And, uhm, enjoy and all that.

**Chapter 6**

"**Pretty"**

One drink, as one drink often does, turned into three or four and before long Arthur found himself seated practically on top of Eames, pleasantly tipsy and giggling as he recounted tales of working with Cobb before Eames.

"And Mal, oh Mal was a_maz_ing!"

He slurred, leaning forward towards the other man, eyes wide as though in awe.

"Beautiful and deadly and brilliant! The best. The absolute best in the business. She could do it all. Plan the job, get all the information, design the levels, con the mark, extract what we needed. Sometimes she even acted as a forger. She was great at that. Well, not as good as you of course, but you're the best I've ever seen, so of course she wasn't. But she was the greatest damn exactor you could ask for. Better, even."

Arthur rambled on; his hands flailing about like an excited child.  
Eames watched in silent amusement. Arthur really was a light weight. And an obscenely friendly drunk, as well. But one of Arthur's comments sent the forger's eyebrows flying up.

"I'm sorry, love, but what was that? Did you just compliment me?"

Arthur flushed; stopping halfway through some statement about Yusuf's drinking habits to stare at Eames. He quickly ducked his head in embarrassment. How could he have let something like a compliment slip out like that? He definitely needed to stop drinking. And get Eames out. Now.

"Well, I'm flattered, darling. I didn't know you cared."

He teased, his eyes twinkling again.  
As Arthur opened his mouth to retort, a strong, icy breeze flowed in, forcing a shiver from the young point man. In his drunken haze, he saw nothing wrong with snuggling up to the forger for warmth. Eames seemed to tense at first, but quickly relaxed into the embrace, letting his arms settle down around the slighter man's shoulders. Arthur looked up curiously, chocolate eyes locking with sea green ones. The other man's smile was small but his eyes were warm and welcoming, something Arthur wasn't used to seeing. He smiled in return.

"You, Mr. Eames, are very pretty."


	7. Goodbyes

**Chapter 7**

"**Goodbyes"**

Fuck.  
Did he just say that out loud?  
To the man?  
He was dead. Doomed to a life time of endless teasing about this one moment.  
Goddammit! What _was_ he thinking?  
Oh, that's right. He wasn't.  
Wasn't thinking about how Eames' eyes were twinkling so prettily or about how his lips looked so soft and kissable. And he definitely wasn't thinking about how his stubble looked adorably fuzzy and would probably tickle if he kissed him.  
Fuck.  
He was so royally screwed.  
Blushing bright red, he ducked his head for the second time that night, trying to escape the mockery that would inevitably follow such an outburst. His eyes shut tight in anticipation, and his teeth ground together. But, it never came. No, instead, a smooth, rich sound filled the room as Eames' chest shook with light laughter. Arthur allowed himself to look up, confusion written clearly on his face. To his surprise -and great relief- the thief's eyes were alight with warm amusement.

"You, Darling, have had much too-"

Arthur wasn't listening. Eames' lips just looked so damn tempting and instead of listening to the words flowing from them, he found himself wondering what they would feel like. They were right there. So full and inviting. It would be so easy to just lean forward and taste them.  
It wasn't until he noticed how silent it was that he realized he had done just that, cutting the forger off mid-sentence by shoving his lips roughly against the other man's.  
He immediately pulled away.

"Shit! M'sorry. You-you should, uhm, you should probably go."

Now, Arthur had seen enough romantic comedies to know that this was where Eames was supposed to tell him to shut up and then kiss him back and they would end up living happily ever after. _If_ this was a movie. But it wasn't. And while Arthur had seen a lot of romantic comedies, he had also seen enough of the real world to know that this was going to end badly. Eames was either going to explode in anger and disgust, or he going to be passive aggressive and just ignore him for the rest of his life. There was no possible outcome that didn't completely fuck their already strained relationship to hell and back. Not one of the possibilities that flew through Arthur's mind had a happy, realistic ending. Of course, because of this, Eames' actual reaction had to be the one he never expected.  
He laughed.  
The fucker just laughed.

"Bloody hell, mate," he said between breaths, "you finally get what you've been after all this time and you're just going to kick me out before we even get to the shagging?"

He laughed again. And, going beyond what he thought was humanly possible, Arthur's face turned to an even deeper shade of red, this time from both embarrassment and anger.

"Get out."

Arthur muttered, head hanging in shame.

"What was that, pet?"

"Get out. I said, get out! Now!"

He growled, voice raising with every word as his anger steadily began to bubble up inside of him.  
Eames' shocked face was enough of a reply as the older man stood slowly, defeat and pain settling deep into his features.  
Had Arthur been looking, he may have been taken aback by the Brit's expression. He'd never witnessed that level of honest emotion in the man's face. But, as it was, Arthur's eyes were trained on the carpet in a stony glare.  
Soft footsteps shuffled away from him before stopping at what Arthur assumed was the door.

"Goodbye then, Arthur."

**AN**: And thus begins the angst.


	8. Fucked Up

**AN**: I hereby dedicate this chapter to Gunnr, for being awesome and reviewing like a madman. If you noticed, it's a longer chapter. Just for you. Well, actually, that's not true. It's longer because that's just how it worked out during the writing, but still. Also, I'd like to point out that we're almost at the halfway point. Although, I must say that's also not true, seeing as the second half of the story is made up of much longer chapters. But, I digress. ENJOY!

**Chapter 8**

"**Fucked Up"**

It didn't take Arthur long to realize he'd fucked up.  
Eames didn't speak to him after that. Not once during the whole job, unless it was absolutely necessary. And even then it was in short clipped sentences. There was no more teasing, no more flirting, no more notes, no more following, no more anything. And at first, Arthur loved it. He could finally work in peace. But it wasn't long before Eames' obvious avoidance began to annoy him.  
The hell was his problem?  
He was Eames.  
He was supposed to have his short sulking period and then he'd bounce back, just as loud and obnoxious as ever.  
But the bounce back never came.  
Just an icy professionalism that did not suit the forger at all.  
He'd even lost the twinkle in his eye.  
And through it all, Arthur found himself wondering how he had managed to fuck it all up quite so badly.  
What would Eames say?

"Bloody American."

Arthur almost chuckled. Almost.  
No, Eames would never say something so boring and blatant and cliché. Well, maybe that blatant. But not that boringly overused. And he'd never say it now. Not to Arthur. Not anymore.  
Because Arthur had fucked up.  
Royally.  
What.  
A.  
Moron.  
Eventually it began to interfere with his work.  
How was he supposed to concentrate when Eames was sitting right there?  
Sitting there with those damn soft lips that felt so nice against his own. And those eyes that shone when he laughed.  
Eames was within reach.  
And he was ignoring him. Completely.

The first sign was his desk. Arthur's desk slowly began to lose the almost obsessive neatness it had once boasted of. Then, he lost his extreme focus. His work began to get sloppy, missing some of the finer details it always used to have without fail. Finally it was his dress code that suffered. His tailored suits giving way to unwashed shirts and messily combed hair that stuck up haphazardly in all angles and directions.  
Ariadne noticed first. She always did.

"Something wrong, Arthur?"

She asked one day as they broke for lunch.  
Arthur responded with a tired grunt. He hadn't been sleeping well since Eames had left.  
Because Eames really had left. The man there now, he wasn't Eames. Sure, he looked like him, dressed like him, walked like him and sounded like him. But it wasn't him. No, this new man, this imposter, rarely smiled, and he never laughed, his eyes never twinkled and he worked like a machine. Always arriving and leaving precisely on time. Before this new guy had arrived, Arthur had never actually seen Eames sit at his desk, let alone work there.

Ariadne's voice jolted him back to the present.

"It's just- your desk is- and you've been- well…something's wrong, Arthur. And I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine."

Arthur growled, throwing his untouched chicken wrap in the trash and stalking back to his desk.  
This was all Eames' fault.  
If that stupid man hadn't followed him into his room and insisted they drink together, they wouldn't be in this melodramatic mess. Or if he hadn't have been hovering so close. If he hadn't have laughed. If he had just left Arthur alone, like he asked, everything would be normal now.  
But Eames had messed up each step of the way. He messed up everything.  
No, Arthur messed up.  
Eames was right.  
Arthur _had_ wanted him from the day they had met.  
_He_'d wanted _him_ intensely ever since that first chance encounter a few years prior.

-  
Arthur had just turned 21. And Cobb had insisted on taking him out. Well, Mal had, so Cobb agreed in full. Arthur had been quite a bit looser at the time, taking an energetic pride in his youth, and had given in rather quickly. Not that he'd have been able to stand up to the woman's coaxing.  
They wound up in some random LA club, sampling liquors with the Cobbs both trying to convince Arthur to go dance.

"Well, if you won't," Mal shouted over the music, "we will!"

She stood, grabbing a laughing Dom by the arm and dragging him to the floor. Cobb shot Arthur an apologetic smile as he was pulled away. He'd smiled a lot more back then.

"Ello, Darling."

Arthur whipped his head around to find a scruffy, smiling man sitting down next to him. And holy fuck Arthur hadn't expected that. His deep blue eyes twinkled at him in the dim light and his dark blonde hair glittered spectacularly. Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat.  
He nodded dumbly in greeting.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I could have sworn I heard it's your birthday."

The man said, all bright smiles and British charm.  
Arthur nodded again.  
The Englishman smiled broadly and waved the bartender over so quickly, Arthur found himself vaguely wondering if everyone was as enraptured by this man as he was.  
With a face splitting grin, he raised his fresh glass in the air.

"To you, then, pet!"

He laughed before knocking back the shot of whatever it was he had ordered. Arthur followed suit, a tiny nervous smile cracking his face and a brief question of what he was drinking skirting through his head.  
The man stuck out his hand.

"Name's Eames. Happy Birthday, mate."

He said with a flirtatious wink.  
Arthur silently took the extended hand and shook it slowly, still rather confused by the sudden and rapid entrance of this new man.

"Yeah, thanks. M'Arthur."

Eames. Mm. It just _sounded_ good. He decided right then and there that he wanted him. Bad.  
-

"-don't know what's going on in that closed off mind of yours, but I need you to figure it out. I need your head in the game, Arthur. Arthur? Arthur!"

For a second time that day, Arthur found himself jerking into awareness and meeting searching eyes. However, unlike Ariadne's compassionate eyes, Cobb's were hard, his frustration only barely outweighing his concern.

"M'sorry, Dom. I've been-actually, there's no excuse. I'm sorry. I won't mess up again. Promise. There's just been a lot on my mind lately. I-"

"Stop. I don't want to hear it. I know everything I need to. Something happened between you and Eames and it's affecting your work."

Arthur stared at his boss wide eyed.  
How did he always manage to know _every_thing?

"Yeah, I'm-"

"No, just fix it."

"But-"

Cobb fixed him with a steely eyed squint.

"Fix it."


	9. Talk

**AN**: And this would be the "Everyone is going to hate me for this" chapter. Basically, have a face full of angsty melodrama. Take it. Gah! It's so short! But, it's a very important little chapter. So, go read it. Now.

**Chapter 9**

"**Talk"**

Cobb had apparently spoken to Eames as well. There was just no other explanation for the sudden text message Arthur received later as he entered his hotel room.

"_Arthur, we need to talk –Eames"_

Arthur sighed and glared at the merrily glowing screen of his phone, wishing the text away. Idly, he thought it odd that Eames had signed it when he had the forger's number saved into his contacts.

"_Do we really have to do this now?_"

This was just _not _the time. He was tired and frustrated and more than a little confused. All he really wanted was to kick off his shoes, take a shower, and then fall into a nice dreamless sleep.

"_Yes, love. Right now._"

But, of course, Eames just wasn't going to let that happen, was he?  
He ground his palms against his eyes, trying to gather his calm from the very edges of his being. But it didn't come.  
He'd lost it. Lost the very thing that made him _him_. He couldn't function like this. Without his calm composure, he couldn't focus, and without his focus he was worthless; he made mistakes, cost them missions, got them shot at and hurt. He'd lost his focus for just half a day during the Fischer case and almost cost Saito his mind.  
But that time he'd managed to find himself again. Managed to pull himself back together and go on. Managed to catch himself teetering on the edge before he fell of the cliff. This time, however, he hadn't even realized he was on the damn cliff until he was already falling over the edge. And now, try as he might, he just couldn't quite grasp the branches of patience to catch himself. There was no way back up now. Not until he finally hit the bottom. He'd finally taken that step over the line separating sane from mental and it was just a sheer drop down.  
Hands shaking, he pushed himself off the floor.  
He couldn't even remember sitting down.  
A deep breath in and the shaking stopped.  
A deep breath out and a hand grabbed his gun.  
Another deep breath in and the gun was raised to his head.  
Another deep breath out and he heard Eames' footsteps in the hall.  
A last deep breath in and a finger pulled the trigger, shattering the silence.  
There was a short pause, and then a door flew open, smashing against the wall.

"Arthur!"


	10. Drama

**AN: **Kay, so hopefully this makes sense to you. (Despite its shortness) If it doesn't, then the next chapter after this should clear it up for you. And that next chapter will be posted at the same time as this one, so it's a twofer today. Thanks again to Gunnr for your consistent and wondiferious reviews! And a special shout out to Try Ignorance for making me smile like an idiot. (-This is a little late, but oh well.)

**Chapter 10**

"**Drama"**

Eames had been just about to knock when had heard the gun shot.  
Although such a noise was common in Eames' line of work, the suddenness of it had him jerking to a stop.  
A single word, barely even a whisper, escaped his lips.

"No."

He threw the door open, letting it smash against the wall and causing a small picture frame to fall from the force. The resulting thud and shattering of glass was lost on Eames as he rushed in to find Arthur's crumpled body lying just inside, gun still in hand.

"Arthur!"

He screamed the name as though the man might hear it and come back to him.

"God _Dammit_, Darling! It was only a talk! No need to be so drastic!"

He cried as he began to pace, running his fingers nervously through his already messy hair. He stopped to look again at the other man.  
Suddenly the effects of the last few weeks caught up to him and he collapsed onto the wall, sliding down it to the floor, eyes never leaving Arthur's body.  
He'd really messed up this time. He shouldn't have pushed him. He had backed him into a corner and forced him to either give in or run. And, of course, Arthur, ever the dominant male, had chosen to run rather than hurt his pride. Which meant Eames would never get the chance to apologize. Apologize for the all the mockery and the teasing. Apologize for the flirting and the laughing. For the horribly cold disposition he'd had following the incident in the hotel room.  
He closed his eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink, as a slow sigh escaped his lips.  
Then, a slow, bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he looked again at the perfectly dressed corpse before him. The chuckle grew and deepened until the whole room was filled with rough, pained laughter.

"Always the Drama Queen, love."


	11. Gone

**AN:** Chapter 11. Excited? Well you fucking should be! Sorta. Not really. We're just putting along. So, without further adieu, I give thee, "Gone".

**Chapter 11**

"**Gone"**

Arthur's eyes shot open and quickly glanced around the room.  
Jeff, their current chemist, seeing as Yusuf was busy with some other project, raised his brow but said nothing. Good man, Jeff, never asking questions. He stood up and left the room, moving to his office area, muttering something about checking over his notes.  
Arthur sighed in relief, relaxing for only half a second before pulling the lead from his arm, grabbing his coat off the back of his lawn chair and heading out of the building.  
Before he'd even really realized what he was doing, he was on a plane to Moscow.  
Why he chose Moscow, he really didn't know.  
It could have been because it was the first plane going far enough away.  
Or, just as likely, it could have been because he had a friend up there. One who was rather good at making people disappear.  
But the reason didn't really matter, did it? All that mattered was that he was on a plane going very far away from Eames.  
Because the man had wanted to talk.  
Arthur sighed. Again.  
This, he realized with a groan, seemed to be becoming a habit for him- doing something stupid and then suffering from an excess of sighs.  
He adjusted himself in his seat, turning the past events in his head.  
With a short bitter laugh, he realized he was probably overreacting. But it was too late now. He'd be in Russia soon enough.  
Before he had left, he'd already tied up the last few loose ends he would have left them with, successfully getting away clean.  
Feeling a bit more at ease with these thoughts in mind, he finally stopped squirming and settled into a vaguely comfortable position in the plane seat.  
After all, he'd left them with all the information he had gathered on their mark, contact information for a pretty reliable point man, his cell phone, and a personal letter apologizing for his abrupt departure.  
On his way out, he had almost been tempted to slip another letter he'd written into the inside pocket of Eames' coat. But he had thought better of it.  
He turned the second letter over in his hands, gently sliding his fingers along the creases. And, for a moment, he had his doubts about this whole thing. But, only for a moment before violently stuffing the folded sheet of paper into his pocket and leaning back, and drifting into a dark dreamless sleep. Just the way he liked it.

**One week later**

Arthur sat in a dark room, alone again. He was always alone now. Of course, he couldn't allow himself the bitterness that usually accompanied his loneliness. After all, it had been his choice to leave, his choice to separate himself from them. It had only been a week, but he was already beginning to get restless.  
Had they finished the job?  
Were they successful?  
Did his leaving put them behind schedule?  
Was Eames alright?  
No, not Eames. He couldn't let himself think about Eames. It might make him want to go back.  
But, to what?  
What could he possibly go back to?  
Open arms and forgiveness? Would he return to a clasp on the shoulder, a quick laugh, then on to the next? It didn't seem likely.  
They'd be frustrated with him.

"Why did you leave?"

"How could you abandon us? In the middle of a job?"

He could see their accusing eyes now, glaring at him from the dark corners of his hotel room.  
He let out a long low sigh.  
He'd have to leave soon, move again, go hide somewhere else.  
Maybe he'd find some work, seeing as he was better now. Not completely better, and not even halfway back to normal, but he was good enough to do work again.  
He'd heard a murmur of a man needing a point man down in Zimbabwe. Maybe he could go down there, see if he could do the job.  
With another sigh, this one soft and short, he stood and, grabbing his single bag, left.

Later, as he once again found himself on a plane going far away, he let his mind wander. Which, of course, led back to Eames.  
But, for once, he decided to just sit back and enjoy his memories of the man.  
After all, he was never going to see him again.

-  
Arthur was late. He was never normally late, so, of course, the one day he absolutely needs to be on time, he's late. Today's the day that they're bringing in the new team member. He was supposed to be the best in the business. Spot on forges every time. Mal had been overjoyed to find a professional forger. That way, she could focus solely on extracting while someone else conned the mark.

He rushed into the old warehouse they were set up in, stopping outside their work room to fix his suit. He needed to look presentable, professional. Quickly sliding his hand over his hair to make sure it was flat, he took a deep breath and set his jaw. He walked in purposefully, briefcase in hand, suit perfect, and moved towards the makeshift office at the back of the room.

"Sorry I'm late."

He said as he opened the door.

"I-"

But his explanation died in this throat, as a set of deep blue-green eyes settled on his.

"Darling! What a lovely surprise!"  
-

A soft touch to his shoulder jolted him awake.  
"Sir? We're landing soon. Do you need an immigration form?"


	12. Letters

**AN**: And, uhm, another short chapter. I could have sworn they got longer after chapter ten. Ah well. The next chapter after this is three sheets of binder paper, so it's a bit longer. Then, chapter fourteen takes up eight sheets, but fifteen is back down to four sheets, sixteen is six sheets, and seventeen is eleven. So, they finally get longer after this. Promise. I'm just so happy people seem to like this story~ It's been my baby since early August, so it's nice to know all that time went into something enjoyable. ^_^ Now, Enjoy this little piece from Cobb's point of view.

PS: I'm "such a beast at updating" because I 1) have no life, 2) need to finish this so I can start working on another project that's been floating around in my head, and 3) because the constant stream of reviews it brings keeps me on a bit of a high. (emaTions: Your review made me smile so wide, it hurt my mouth.) -I'm such a dork. XP Shutting up now.

**Chapter 12**

"**Letters"**

*The day after Arthur's departure

It was approximately twenty minutes to sunrise when Cobb arrived at their current warehouse.  
As always the brief, fleeting question of why they always used warehouses skirted through his mind before he focused solely on the job at hand.

"Arthur, we need to do a quick briefing on the mark today, so get your notes ready."

He said as he walked in, his words bouncing back to him in the empty room.  
Normally, Arthur would be there already, typing away at his computer, a steaming mug of coffee at his elbow as he dug up more information on their mark than Cobb thought humanly possible. But this morning the point man was nowhere to be seen.

"Arthur?"

Cobb repeated, but he knew it was pointless. If he was there, he was at his desk. No matter what. And his desk was deserted. No papers or files or notepads littered the surface. The old laptop sat silent, not busily humming as it usually did. The only thing on the sullen brown wood was a single white envelope. Cobb wasted no time in investigating. He swiftly lifted the parcel and inspected it. On the front, in Arthur's precise handwriting was Cobb's name. Nothing else. Just the one solitary word. He stared at it for a moment, trying to decide if it would be better to open it right then, alone, or later while everyone else was there as well.  
With a short sigh, he turned it over and tore it open.  
The note inside was brief and only mildly sentimental, hitting all the important points in a concise and rather vague way. The way only Arthur could write it.  
He read over it a few more times. Simply to make sure he completely understood it and wasn't missing anything.  
Arthur was gone.  
With no intention of coming back.  
He'd left. In the middle of a job.  
If it weren't for the fact that Arthur was basically a brother to him, he would have tracked him down and strangled him himself.  
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Cobb made his way to his own desk.  
Just as he expected, an unmarked manila envelope was placed in the center, neatly avoiding the other papers already there.  
Inside he found all the information Arthur had gathered thus far along with the contact information for a Thomas Gordon, whom Arthur claimed was a very reliable and trustworthy point man.  
It was at least five full minutes before Cobb moved again. And when he did, it was only to scratch his nose in thought.

What could possibly have…?  
Oh.  
Eames.

And just like that, everything clicked into place.  
While he still wasn't sure what exactly initially started it all, he quickly strung the rest of it together.  
Something had happened between the two men. God knows what, but Arthur had obviously upset Eames who had then begun to sulk. And, much to Cobb's pleasure, Eames' version of sulking was simply ignoring Arthur and working his ass off. Cobb had noticed. It wasn't exactly hard to pick up on.  
But then, it had started to affect Arthur's work, so he'd told them to fix it. Which, evidently, led to another confrontation that obviously ended poorly, i.e. Arthur leaving.

With a particularly exasperated sigh, Cobb sat up in his chair and picked up the phone.  
After only a moment of hesitation, during which he contemplated calling Eames instead, he frowned and dialed Thomas' number.

"Yes, Thomas Gibson? Dominic Cobb. How quickly would you be able to be in London?"


	13. Counting

**AN**: So, I'm thinking that after this chapter, I'll be actually sticking to the schedule I set up for myself. Meaning I'll be updating Monday, Wednesday, Saturday. And no amount of sweet talking with sway me otherwise. (Totally untrue.) Thanks for all the awesome reviews, they make me ridiculously happy. And now, I give you chapter thirteen!

**Chapter 13**

"**Counting"**

-One week later-

Eames was late. Again. It's not like he had ever been a particularly punctual man, but this was getting ridiculous.  
He ran into the warehouse at half past eleven, just barely catching the tail end of the introduction of their new teammate.  
Eames already hated him.  
He replaced Arthur.  
But, of course, Eames had much more rational reasons for his distaste for Tom.  
There was no way he'd be anywhere near as good as Arthur.  
He'd taken his bloody damn time getting here, putting them back a full week.  
Eames had no idea if they could honestly trust him.  
The man had a nasty "I'm better than you" glint in his eye.  
He didn't dress professionally.  
His hair was an unkempt wavy mess that still, to Eames' great annoyance, managed to look like it was meant to do that.  
There was a few days' worth of scruff on him, bringing out his rugged charm.  
His eyes were sharp and calculating, oozing arrogance.  
As he spoke, he twirled his pen between his fingers.  
And his voice was cocky and grating.  
But, most of all, he wasn't Arthur.  
Not that Eames would admit to that last point being on his list of reasons.

After Arthur had left, Eames spent two days sulking before spending the next five days attacking phone lines, calling any and every one he could think of.  
He _needed_ to find him.  
It had been precisely seven days and two and a half hours since he'd left.  
But Eames wasn't counting.

Four days later, the job was finished. Tom had missed a vital piece of information and they had only barely had it out alive.  
Cobb chewed him a new one for that. Worse than he ever had Arthur.  
But, Eames couldn't help but feel is was all Arthur's fault.  
If he hadn't had left, he would have caught that information. He would have saved them the fear and the danger and the trouble. But, he _had_ left. And he'd left them in the hands of an incompetent, _arrogant_ fool. Eames couldn't stress the arrogant part enough. Not even in his own mind.

Eames hated him.  
And by him, he meant Arthur.  
He hated the smug, neat perfection of their missing man. Hated him for just up and leaving like he did. Hated his cowardice. Hated him for not even leaving a number or a hint to where he was going. Hated his cell phone, which now sat on Arthur's empty desk. But, most of all, he hated that he missed him.  
Eames was a liar by trade.  
It was simply what he did.  
He lied to people.  
And, in turn, he lied to himself.  
More often than not, he'd lie to himself about his emotions. It was no big deal. He simply lied until he made himself believe he didn't feel a certain way. It was what was best for him. What was best for the team.  
But no matter what he told himself this time, he just could not deceive himself. At all.  
Arthur had been gone eleven days now.  
And Eames was dying.  
He had been waiting for the job to be finished, hoping that maybe Arthur would come back afterwards. But another two days later, he still hadn't showed.

They had to stay in London for a few days after the job. For security reasons.  
Five days after the fact, they were finally packing up to leave.  
Eames was just grabbing his pocket notebook off his desk when Cobb called out to him.

"Eames! Do you have a minute?"

He nodded, knowing it was better to indulge Cobb that to not, and quickly made his way to his steely eyed boss.

"Yes, Dom?"

"Why are you still here?"

That was Dom, always blunt and to the point. But still Eames paused, quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

"I'm afraid I don't know-"

"Why are you still here, Eames?"

He repeated, fixing Eames with his should-be-trademarked older brotherly glare.

"Arthur is God-knows-where in the world, and you've just been sitting here?"

Eames found himself speechless for a moment.

"Well, I- I don't see how- Arthur and I-"

He spluttered for a while, trying desperately to get his thoughts in order.

"Eames."

Cobb warned, his glare intensifying minutely.

"Get out of here. Go find him."

As Eames opened his mouth to protest, Cobb raised his hand and gave a sharp shake of his head.

"Now, Mr. Eames."


	14. Searching

**AN**: I hate this chapter. With a passion. Despite being the longest chapter so far, I can't but help but feel it sounds rushed. I am officially guilty of using the amazing tool that is time skip. Although, I am rather fond of the way the girls' "accents" came out. That was fun. Thank you for all the lovely reviews. They make me a happy panda. Anyway, enjoy this next bit. ^_^

**Chapter 14**

"**Searching"**

Eames left that night.  
He knew Arthur, so he knew he wouldn't be at home, sitting in his LA flat, sipping coffee and reading classic literature, but he couldn't help himself. He boarded the next flight to California and clung to the foolish hope that Arthur might have gone somewhere familiar.

Of course, it could never be that easy. Not with Arthur. Never with Arthur.

He arrived outside the point man's flat around half eleven that night, tired and breathless, to find it deserted. Well, not quite deserted, but certainly not lived in. Not recently.  
He'd figured as much.  
With a weary sigh, he rubbed his face roughly, contemplating his options.  
It was too late to continue now. He'd have to get a room somewhere and move on in the morning. Or at least start doing some cyber searching. But, knowing Arthur, there'd most likely be little to no paper trail. And, if Eames was honest with himself, the latter option was more likely.

He took another forlorn look around the impossibly neat flat (the key to which he'd stolen, gotten copied, and returned during a lunch break, all without the younger man's notice.) He wasn't known as the best thief around for nothing.

There was honestly no money on his person and he had no real desire to spend the night in another shitty hotel room. Despite what people might think, he still had _some_ taste.  
Suddenly, it occurred to him that he was already standing in a perfectly good, _empty_, downtown flat. The likes of which he could never dream of paying for. The only conceivable downside would be the overwhelming presence of Arthur on everything in the place. But, he could live with that for one night.

A sad small graced his lips as set his bag down and closed the door behind him.

That night, he slept comfortably in Arthur bed, his head resting on a damp pillow, surrounded by the scent of the point man's shampoo, and dreamt of nothing.

The next morning he was up early and on the internet before the first light of dawn, looking for any tiny scrap of information he could find.  
He'd been about to give up and call it a day when he stumbled upon a vague job offer that sounded like it sorta could be something. Maybe. A man in Zimbabwe was looking for someone who was good with collecting information.  
Despite it being a long shot, Eames figured it would be the only thing he'd find, so he grabbed his measly travel bag and was out the door in under thirty minutes.

By the time he found the man, it had been almost an entire week and all he managed to learn was that a man matching Arthur's description had taken and completed the job. The man wouldn't shut up about how impressed he was with his skill. But when he did, he told him that the well-dressed man had left the day before. And that he'd called himself Jonathan.

Eames thanked the man and carried on in his journey. But everywhere he went, he got the same story. A different town, a different name, but the same story. He'd just missed him. Again. And again. And again.

He found himself in Rome, Normandy, Kyoto, Edinburgh, Berlin, Mumbai, Cork, even Shanghai. Each time finding himself only a day or so behind his target.

After almost a year and a half of chasing him around the globe, Eames was just about ready to accept that Arthur simply did _not _want to be found.

Another month and a half later, he found himself back in the states. In fact, he was even back in California, or 'Cali' as the overly peppy greeter had called it. He didn't even know SFO had greeters, and, as it turned out, they didn't. Just an obscenely friendly staff member who felt compelled to welcome him to San Francisco.  
Or, whatever tiny nowhere town that this was. It's not like they ever built major airports in their proper cities. In fact, this airport was in some suburban town called San something. But that was beside the point.  
He had promised himself hat this was the last place he was going to look for Arthur. If he didn't find the man here, then he'd just have to accept that he wasn't going to find him at all and that it was time to move on. He'd made that silent, bitter promise to himself, and he intended to keep it. His search ended here.  
A year and seven months of stress and constant travelling hadn't been kind to Eames.  
He'd lost weight and gained hair. Mainly on his face. His usual scruff had long given way to a short red tinted beard and his once gleaming dark gold locks were left unbrushed and unwashed, falling into his face in scraggly waves.

On his way out, he'd inadvertently gotten an eyeful of himself as he passed a large glass display case. The mild shiver of disgust was not a good sign. A shower was definitely necessary.  
Immediately.

Having absolutely no desire whatsoever to drive into the city that evening, he checked into a dingy motel in a small down just south of San Francisco. It was an at least thirty minute drive from downtown, but the place had an oddly familiar feel to it that comforted Eames.

He showered and just barely managed to change into some sleep clothes before he passed out into a pillow drenched from his towel dried hair. And even when he woke up half way through the night, freezing cold, he couldn't bring himself to care.

The next morning, he was right back on his laptop, looking for anymore traces of his point man. As per usual, he found nothing. It was only to be expected that a man who made a living –and a damn good one at that- by finding information would be able to hide it just as well as he could dig it up.

Having nothing else to do for the day, he explored his current town of temporary residence. Within a five mile radius from his motel, he found two Safeways, three Targets, two high schools, two rather pitiful shopping malls, and a chocolate factory. Not to mention at least four Starbucks.

He then spent what was left of his day in his room, bored out of his skull. What a lovely town.

Why was it, he found himself wondering, that he was in California, in the middle of June, and the town was blanketed in fog? Wasn't California supposed to be sunshine and blonde beach babes? What utter bullcrap. All the girls he'd seen thus far hard been dark haired Filipinos -or was it Filipin_a_s?- and Hispanics. It didn't matter anyway.  
It had been two whole weeks since his arrival in this godforsaken place and still no sign of Arthur. Of course, there weren't any signs of him anywhere else either.

Why was he even still here? Might as well pack up and go home. Back to Mombasa. He could drown away his troubles in booze, gambling, and whores. Like always.  
Yeah, that was the most reasonable option. So, he was going to book a flight, grab his shit, and leave. But first, he had to take a piss.  
After relieving himself, he took a quick look in the mirror. At some point during another fruitless day of searching the previous week, he'd stopped at a small salon for a haircut. That same day he'd gone "home" and shaved. He finally looked like himself again, thankfully.

"Stay here one more night, check out tomorrow."

He promised himself as he threw another crumpled shirt into his travel bag.  
The next morning, he couldn't help himself, he hopped onto the computer one last time to check for any last minute leads.

"So, I heard there was a world class forger in town. Some British dude. Ya' know 'im?"

Eames' head shot up. After the initial thought of 'who the fuck talks about our business out on the street,' he gasped. Impossible. There was absolutely no way he was a topic of conversation. No way.

"Yeah, I heard 'bout that. He's 'possedta be hella good. Joey don't like 'im, though."

The first voice made a curious grunt in response, but the second voice didn't respond.

"Why's that? 'E know the guy?"

Eames' felt his heart leap into his throat. Could these idiots possibly know Arthur?  
Keeping silently hopeful, he moved closer to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the speakers.

"Di'n't say. But when I brought 'im up, Joey got all pissy and shit. Figured he di'n't like the guy. Ya' know?"

Eames smirked despite himself. That had to be Arthur, it certainly sounded like him.  
He snorted.  
Joey? Really?  
It was strange how easily the teasing came back to him after so long. But, with a sharp shake of his head, he focused again. Couldn't get distracted but silly things like that when Arthur was so close. Especially because he hadn't actually found him yet. And he wouldn't rest until he had. Even if that did make him sound like a stupid lovesick teenage girl.  
Peering out the window, he spotted the two girls, maybe in their early twenties, walking side by side, talking animatedly.  
They were his one chance to finally find Arthur. To finally apologize. To finally just see him again.

He practically flew out of his room.

"Excuse me!"

The girls turned to face him, confusion and distrust obviously written on their faces. One of them, the shorter, bustier one, muttered something to the other. They both laughed, before the taller one nodded and waved as the other girl walked away. Once she was gone, the first girl turned to face Eames, all aggressive suspicion.

"Can I help you?"

She asked, her words no longer flavored with the 'accent' of the area. Her weight was all on one leg, her back straight, and her arms crossed tightly across her chest.  
Eames idly noted that these gestures pointed to a defensive yet threatening stance, which, in turn, probably meant she was feeling threatened by him.

"Uhm, yeah. I couldn't help but over hear-"

She raised an annoyed eyebrow at this and colored slightly. For such a small movement, it was terribly menacing.

"And, uhm, well…you know me?"

He stuttered out, not even entirely sure what he was trying to say to begin with. More confusing still, was how this short, suburban youngster could be making him so nervous.

"Do I now?"

She said, cocking her head to the side and looking him over carefully. Suddenly, recognition seemed to flood her face.

"Ah! You're the forger! Eh- Eames, yeah?"

She said, quickly falling back into her slang. Both sentences were statements, not questions, and Eames wouldn't dare to argue.  
Her eyes seemed to light up at the thought, and, as he watched, they changed from a blue-grey to a right green color.  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the small thought that he'd like to forge that at some point made itself known, but he brushed it off for the time being.

She looked him over once more, studying him a bit closer.  
Eames, the unflappable man, squirmed a bit under her gaze.

Suddenly she laughed. In that instant, her whole demeanor changed. Her eyes warmed, and her lips quirked up slightly. It was like a switch had been flipped, and suddenly she was the friendliest person on Earth.

"You're 'ere for 'im, ain't ya'?"

She asked, smiling softly.

Dropping her arms, she let out another low chuckle.

"Knew 'e was runnin' from sum'um."

She said, shaking her head slightly and lowering her gaze to the ground.

Turning abruptly on her heel, she began to walk away, leaving a still rather confused Eames in her wake. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back at him.

"Comin'? Ya' wanna see 'im, doncha?"

He nodded dumbly and followed after her. She laughed again, calling back to him over her shoulder:

"'M Xalia, by the way."


	15. Help

**AN**: And queue the short follow up chapter! I'm so sorry, I was totally going to put this up way earlier, but I ended up not coming home last night, so I couldn't. Uhm, I hope you guys like this one. We're almost finished! Just five/six more chapters after this! But don't dwell too much on that, just enjoy this little guy~

**Chapter 15**

"**Help"**

Eames followed the girl, Xalia, in a rather odd looping path through the town to a large apartment complex.

"Not the most private place, but that's the beauty of it. No one's gonna look fer ya' in such a dead obvious place."

She said, the words flying out of her mouth at an incredible speed, as she led him into the ugly orange building.

As he followed her, Eames found himself trying to name all the colors in her hair in an effort to calm down. He'd finally found Arthur. After a year of searching and chasing, he'd finally found him. Completely by chance. There was no way it could be that easy. Red. Arthur was going to bolt the minute he saw him. Green. What if he hadn't returned because he honestly never wanted to see Eames again? Blue. This was probably a mistake. Pink. It probably wasn't Arthur. Orange. It shouldn't be this simple. Purple. It couldn't be this simple. Magenta.

Xalia stopped suddenly, causing Eames to nearly run into her.

"'Ere we are."

Eames took a deep breath, silencing the doubts in his head.  
She opened the door and strolled in, waving to someone as she did. Eames was appalled by her casualty. Didn't she understand the gravity of the situation?

"Ay! Dani! Joey 'ere?"

She called, throwing her over-sized leather jacket onto a random chair.  
After following her inside, Eames took a moment to analyze their set up. It looked like a rather low budget, casual operation with a lounge area taking up most of the space. The rest of the apartment was in varying degrees of destruction. Papers, jackets, soda cans, and random candy wrappers were littered everywhere, seeming to lack any real form of organization. There was only one desk in the entire place, and its perfection stood out in the messy room. A neat stack of folders sat just to the left of a closed laptop, a small collection of pens, neatly lined up by height, were resting on the folders, and a small, still steaming mug of coffee stood alone in the empty right side of the desk.  
Eames' breath caught. That had to be Arthur. Absolutely had to be.  
Xalia returned then, followed by another girl who seemed to be drowning in a giant black sweatshirt.

"Dani says ya' just missed 'im. He got a call an' dashed off. Dunno what it was about, though."

He sighed as all his elated hopes crashed down around him.  
That had to be a sign. He just couldn't catch the point man, no matter what bright haired luck he had. There was always going to be something, just beyond his control, to warn the other man. A small trace of information, a random phone call-  
Hang on.  
_Phone_ call.

"He got a call, you say?"

The young women nodded in unison. Dani's face a complete blank while Xalia looked as though she thought he might be crazy.

"On a cell phone?"

He asked, trying to lead them in the right direction. Xalia figured it out then, he cheeks going red and a smile cracking her face.

"Oh! Yeah, his cell. Duh. I'm so fuckin' stupid. Uhm, his number's-"

"I got it."

Dani interjected, handing him a small slip of paper.

"This way you can't forget. I always forget. I forget everything. That's why I have that."

She said, smiling lazily.

"Shit- yeah. I forgot about that. I just remember my shit. So, there ya' go. Now go catch yer boy."

Xalia laughed, smacking his arm in a friendly gesture. She sure seemed quick to trust.

Eames grinned. The chase was still on.  
Nodding his thanks, he turned and ran out the door, clutching the scrap of paper tightly in his hand.

As he went, he found himself smirking as he heard Xalia call out,

"Have fun storming the castle!"


	16. Chase

**AN**: Holy fuck, I only realized I didn't have this typed up when I went to post it this afternoon. So, I ended up typing it up in a mad dash. Which is my excuse if there's more errors than normal. This one's a bit longer, weighing in at somewhere around 1,800 words. I hope you like it. It took me forever to write. Granted, there was a rather depressing event in my life that turned me off from this story during this chapter. Anyway, I freaking love you guys! At 15 chapters I had thirty reviews. Which is waayyy more than I ever expected to get. So, thank you everyone! Oh, uhm, and Happy Valentine's Day. I got you a new chapter! Enjoy~

**Chapter 16**

"**Chase"**

Arthur –no, Joey. No, Joseph. He hated that the girls called him Joey. It was too _familiar_- was running. Again. Sometimes it felt like he never stopped.

Eames was in town. He knew that. In fact, he'd known that since the day Eames landed. In all honesty, he knew everywhere Eames had been over the past year and a half and when he had gotten there. But it was all for his own safety. It's not like he was keeping tabs on Eames because he wanted to.  
But, he'd taken precautions. Again. He'd changed his name (again). And forged all his important documents (again). And started working with a tiny rookie group (again). They were such a rookie group, in fact, that their activity could only barely be considered illegal, if it was even noticed.

At first, he told himself it was just another coincidence. Eames couldn't have finally found him. And after two weeks of silence from the man, he began to believe it. After all, how could the forger spend two weeks in the same town as him and not come after him if he actually knew he was there. Sadly, one phone call from Mimi and all his fears came true, dashing his feeble hopes in the process. Eames had finally caught up with him, and Arthur just couldn't have that. So he ran. Grabbed his solitary briefcase and ran. Just like he had every other time Eames had gotten even vaguely close.

It wasn't that he was afraid. No, Arthur Joseph never got scared. Not of someone like Eames. He just wasn't ready yet. He'd long ago regained his composure and professionalism, so it wasn't that. He simply wasn't ready yet. He couldn't face his old life when his new one was so much better. No attachments. No real responsibilities. No feelings or emotions. Nothing was permanent anymore. He had successfully eliminated the risk of loss. The risk of pain. At least, that's what he told himself. Because it obviously had nothing to do with the guilt from leaving mid-job. Nothing to do with the guilt of abandoning his only real friends. Nor did it have to do with guilt of running out on Eames. And the thought that maybe they could never forgive him or trust him again never crossed his mind. Not once during all those sleepless nights he spent tossing and turning in whatever new place he was in. He could easily go back to his old team with absolutely no fear whatsoever if he wanted to. He just didn't want to.  
Right?  
Of course.

It's not like he'd sat up all night thinking about them before. And it's not like he's written hundreds of letters to Eames almost every night for the past year and eight months. And he definitely didn't know it had been over a year and eight months since he had left. Why would he?

A violent buzzing in his pocket tore him from his musings. Without thinking, he answered it. It's not like anyone he didn't want to had his number.

"Joseph."

There wasn't even a half second pause before an out of breath voice began rambling in a strained, crazed yell.

"Arthur! Darling! Is that really you? Well of course it is. I'd know your voice anywhere. Where are you? This bloody town has me all turned around! But, it's you. Jesus. It's honestly you, isn't it? Oh God. Fuck, how are you? Never mind. You're fine. You're always bloody fine. Arthur, love, are you going to answer me? Where the bloody hell _are _you?"

Joseph literally had to hold the phone away from his ear to be able to hear the man clearly.

"I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong number."

He managed to get out coolly, cutting Eames off mid-sentence, before hanging up and turning the device off.

He wasn't going to make it that easy. He found himself wearing a smug smirk as the challenging thought crossed his mind.  
Tossing his phone into a conveniently placed trash can, he quickly went through his options. He could just stay in town and try to hide in the shadows of the place. It was simple, obvious, and stupid. Maybe enough so to fool Eames. But he seriously doubted that. If he was tracking Eames, Eames was probably tracking him. So, that left run into the city, run to a new place, or just confront him. And seeing as he'd pretty much convinced himself that he never wanted to see the Brit again for the rest of his life, running was sounding pretty damn good. With that simple thought in mind, he quickly changed his course to the nearest BART station. Which, fortunately, was a five minute walk from his current location. How wonderfully perfectly convenient. Again. This whole damn town seemed to be horribly convenient for him today. And continuing on with that lovely string of convenience would be the fact that the transit system would take him straight to the airport. At that moment, he really loved that town.

The transit system was ridiculously easy to use. A couple bucks for a ticket and he was done and ready to leave. Sometimes he adored modern technology and its complete replacement of time consuming human ticket sellers. The wait for his train was short, maybe a minute and a half at the most, and then he was on his way to SFO to move on to his next location. His next hiding place.  
Settling into a seat with heavy sigh, he finally allowed himself to relax. He was fine. There was no way that Eames was going to catch him now. Well, at least not here. The thought comforted him enough that he felt safe to pick up a discarded newspaper let himself get absorbed into the local news.

At the next stop, the one just before the airport, another body fell into the seat next to his with an exhausted huff. Joseph flicked his paper in annoyance. Honestly, there had to be other seats. Did this fucker _really_ need to sit _right _next to him? And was it completely necessary to do so so _loudly_?

"Bloody hell."

Arth- _Joseph _froze. There was no way. No fucking way in hell. Cautiously, he peeked out at the newcomer sideways. Sure enough, there was Eames. In the flesh. Sitting right fucking next to him. Thinner than Arthur remembered, a bit more haggard, too. But still gorgeous. No. Not gorgeous. He didn't even know him. He stared blankly at his paper.

"Ever have one of those days where you think you might have finally have caught a break, but then it all slips away again?"

He asked, adding a short bitter laugh to the end.

"It's like, the bloody hell did I do? Honestly, who did I cross to deserve this? Of course, I don't know why I'm telling _you_ this. A bloody stranger. It's not like you care."

Eames' hand rubbed violently at his face before stopping to simply hold his head up. His shoulders sagged and his voice wavered and spoke of numerous sleepless nights. It hurt a bit more than Ar- Joseph cared to admit. He himself tried in vain to keep his eyes firmly locked to the article before him while discreetly hiding his face behind the wrinkled paper.  
Eames sighed, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

"Maybe I should just stop already. It's about bloody time I gave up, in't? I mean, he obviously doesn't give two shits about me. Or anyone, for that matter. But, especially me. I'd bet nothing would make him happier than if I were to get on a plane, fly home to Mombasa, and never come back. He'd be damn well delighted if he never had to hear from me again, I'll tell you. I don't even know why I've been chasing him for so goddamn long. It's utter bullshit, that's what it is. You know what the last thing he said to me was? Like, actually said to me? Well, of course you don't. You don't know a thing about me. You're probably not even listening. Anyway, he told me to get out. Of course, I suppose it could be said that his last words to me were a bit of a backhanded compliment. Still, it's just- I just want to talk, you know? And he just keeps running away."

He finished his monologue with a long weary sigh.  
Arthur heard him shift in his seat and nervously pulled his newspaper closer to his face, desperately trying to disappear behind it.

"So what's your story then, Mate? Just a working stiff with a beautiful wife and a darling toddler at home? Or something much more dark and macabre? Something I'd never understand?"

His fists clenched painfully for a second before he forced himself to relax. Damn Eames for always being able to get a reaction from him. The bastard. He cleared his throat, but didn't respond.

"Aw, c'mon, Mate. I shared my little story. Let's hear yours."

In typical Eames fashion, Eames kept pushing. Arthur could feel the familiar overwhelming annoyance swelling up in the pit of his stomach. But he wasn't going to react. He wasn't going to play into Eames' little games.  
Eames chuckled.

"Oh, I get it. You're like him. Quiet. Alright then. And a stick-in-the-mud, too, no doubt. In that case, I'll just make up a story for you. So, first off, you're going to need a name. Any suggestions?"

At Arthur's silence, he continued.

"M'kay then. It'll have to be a rather boring one. How does Gordon sound? Oh, no. That's the name of someone I'm not too fond of. What about-"

A sudden jerk of the train cut off his rambling. Unfortunately, it also forced the point man's hands away from him face, causing his eyes to bug out in shock. He quickly tried to hide again, but, if Eames' gasp was anything to go by, the older man had already seen him.

"-Arthur?"

In an instant, Arthur's cool demeanor was back in place, not showing even a vague trace of emotion. Eames' open mouthed face of utter shock stared back at him.  
The car doors slid open, giving Arthur the exact escape he needed. But, it just wasn't going to be that easy, was it? Not with Eames. Never with Eames. The man could never just let him be. He snapped his jaw shut and jumped up.

"No! Arthur! I've waited one year, eight months, twenty-three days, and-"

He paused to check his watch,

"Four and a half hours to find you. Please don't make me wait any longer."


	17. Assumptions

**AN**: Okay, so here's the deal. I rather suddenly got smacked in the face with something that actually resembles a social life. So, I've been ridiculously busy compared to normal. Which is why I didn't update on Wednesday. My apologies. Also, Chapter 17 was originally twice as long as the chapter I'm posting now, but I decided to break it up into two pieces so I get it to you faster. Thank you for all the fantastic reviews~ OH! We're almost done! Are you excited? I would be, except for the fact that the chapter formerly known as Chapter 18 just refuses to be written. Which is amusing, really, seeing as I've actually got the chapter that follows it halfway done. Oh well. Now, ENJOY!

**Chapter 17**

"**Assumptions"**

Looking back, he should have never stopped. Should have never turned around. Never looked into those twinkling blue-grey eyes. Because, if he hadn't, he never would have seen the pain or the desperation that was so clearly written in the forger's expressive eyes. But he did. And just like that, he was lost.

With a weary sigh to rival Eames', he vaguely motioned for the man to follow him, before turning and stepping out of the train. He made his way to the quietest section of the waiting area, mind blank. He didn't once check to see if Eames was following him. He knew he was.

Unless they got on a train going the other way, they were pretty much stuck here for the time being.  
And of all the wonderfully clichéd places to have their little talk, they just had to be at an airport. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Silently, he led the Brit to an empty bench, one of maybe three in the whole place- the rest were all overflowing with and surrounded by groups of people.

As soon as he was sure they weren't going to be heard, he turned on the Englishman.

"Alright. Talk."

Eames simply stared at him dumbly.  
Growling with impatience, Arthur tried again.

"Eames, you said you wanted to talk. So talk."

That little quip finally snapped Eames out of his daze.

"Talk? Me? _You_ disappear. _You _run away. _You_ lie and hide and dodge. _You_ leave _me. You_ leave _us. _And _you_ want _me _to talk? Like _I_ have something to explain? Dammit, Arthur, if there's anyone in the whole goddamn world who needs to explain themselves, it's _you._ Not me."

Arthur was speechless. Somehow, he wasn't expecting that. It didn't occur to him that Eames would want an explanation. He stared dumbly at the man, and dark blue-green eyes glared back expectantly. Finally, the silence was broken as Arthur took a deep breath and recollected himself.

"Eames, I- Well, it never- I'm-"

He stopped. Goddammit. How did the forger always manage to do this to him? Turn him into a tongue-tied twat. He mentally cursed the man, falling back onto anger. Anger was easy. It was simple and understandable.

"Look, I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know what the hell you want to hear. I'm sorry? Are you looking for a fucking apology? Whatever it is you're looking for, I can't give it to you."

His voice was cold, biting viciously with every word.  
Eames sighed then.

"Fine. Just, fine. If you don't think you owe me an apology, that's fine. But Cobb isn't going to be so accepting. He's been worried, Arthur. At least go see him. Come with me."

His eyes grew soft as he looked pleadingly up at the American. It had the strange effect of making Eames look very small.  
Arthur felt himself break a little inside- at the mention of Cobb. It had to have been that that did it. Not the hurt that radiated off Eames in huge rolling waves or the positively broken way he was collapsed in his seat on the bench. He didn't even notice those things. No, he just felt guilty about running out on his best friend, is all. Right? Of course.

"Cobb?"

Is all he managed to get out in response. Eames' eyes seem to brighten and die simultaneously.

"He's concerned. He wants to see you. They all do. Even Jeff. Ariadne sends me an e-mail every goddamn day asking if I've found you yet. She wants you back. Says there's someone she needs you to meet. Please come back, Arthur. For a short visit at the very least."

A short visit wouldn't kill him. And it would be nice to see the team again. And the little Cobbs. Arthur figured he could probably be able to face them, apologize, and maybe spend a day in their company. He wasn't that much of a coward. And he could just leave the next day.  
He sighed and gave a small nod.

"Alright. I'll go. But on one condition."

Eames narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly for Arthur to continue.

"When I leave again, I don't want you to follow me."

There was a short pause where neither of them spoke.

"If. You mean if you leave again."

Arthur glared at him. Blue met brown in a silent battle, until, finally, it was Eames who conceded.

"Fine. If that's what it will take to get you to come with me, so be it."

He agreed with a sigh, hanging his head in defeat. He'd chased the man for much too long to lose him now over something that may never happen.

Arthur straightened up, a smug smile stretching his lips briefly before he pulled them back into an impassive line. He was turning to find his way into the airport when he noticed Eames had already trudged over to the waiting area for a train going the other direction.

"Uhm, Eames? Where exactly are you going?"

The forger turned to face him, mask up, shielding all traces of emotion from Arthur.

"Well, _Darling_,"

The old pet name tore into Arthur, a poison coated bullet shot straight through his chest.

"I seem to have _stupidly_ left my things in my hotel room. But, of course, what else would you expect from a forger like _me._"

He said, tone scathing and anger flashing in his dark eyes momentarily. However, no sooner had it reared its ugly head had it disappeared again, hiding once more behind Eames' apathetic mask.  
Arthur faltered for a moment, caught completely off guard by the random burst of emotion. Eames cleared his throat.

"I'm going to collect my possessions, few as they are, and check out. I was also planning on sending Cobb and e-mail to inform him of your impending arrival. If, of course, that is alright with you, Arthur."

If the anger had stunned Arthur, Eames' calm, unaffected tone was a stealth bomb in friendly territory.  
He found himself once again nodding dumbly as he followed the older man on to the newly arrived train.

The ride was silent, as was the walk to Eames' hotel. Which, in all honesty, was more of a broken down motel than anything. But, by all means, it could have been worse. He was surprised to find the forger's room neat and orderly. He had always pegged the man as a slob, and with fairly good reason too. Then again, he had also assumed that Eames wouldn't follow him, or care enough to be hurt by his actions, and he never thought that Eames could properly get angry. And just look what happened to those assumptions.

"Call a cab, would you pet?"

Eames' muffled request tore him from his thoughts and shoved him forcefully into reality. He reached into his pocket for his phone, only to meet empty space.

"I don't have a phone, Eames."

The other man appeared just long enough to toss a cell phone at him, before he disappeared back into a side room. Which, Arthur realized, was the bathroom.  
He opened his mouth to ask why the Brit had stored his things in the bathroom, but thought better of it. Instead he turned his gaze to the old phone he now held. After staring at it blankly for a moment, he realized that he didn't know the number.

"Hey-"

"It's speed dial seven."

Arthur smirked in spite of himself. How was it that Eames always knew him so well?

A few minutes and one ordered cab later, Arthur found himself sitting alone on a bed in a strange hotel room, waiting for Eames of all people to take him away. How the hell had he gotten here? In a short moment of panic, his hand shot into his pocket, tightly grasping the red die that rested there.  
Alright, so it wasn't a dream. It was all just a crazy series of events that not two hours ago seemed completely impossible. Sure, that's believable. Oh, wait, no it's not. He just went from quiet, mysterious Joey to boring, stick-in-the-mud Arthur because of the appearance of one man. No big deal.

"Arthur, cab's here. Shall we?"


	18. Back

**AN**: Alright, so this is the second half of the last chapter. But it is now chapter 18. I'm writing and typing as fast as I can while keeping to my usual quality. So, I'm going to apologize in advance if there's a bit of a long wait between this chapter and the next one. Now, enjoy~

**Chapter 18**

"**Back"**

For the second time that day, Eames' voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up and nodded, taking a moment to center himself before standing.  
Eames was waiting for him at the door. Despite his use of pet names earlier, his face remained an unreadable mask. There was a small fake smirk glued on at an odd angle that was just all together disturbing.  
The image mildly frightened Arthur, but he forced himself to think nothing of it as he followed the other man to the waiting taxi.

"I e-mailed Cobb. Told him we'd be there by eight. And I purchased two tickets for us. Our flight leaves in about four hours."

The voice that came from Eames wasn't his. It was stiff and detached with a forced pleasantness, as though they were simply business associates who were traveling together. It stung Arthur more than he'd care to admit.  
The rest of the car ride passed in stiff silence. Arthur stared out the window while Eames kept his gaze locked blankly onto the head rest before him.  
Much to Arthur's discomfort, the silent persisted throughout the rest of the drive, as well as the entire wait in the airport. Even during the half hour wait in the line for security checks, Eames said nothing. He stayed right behind Arthur, or right in front of him. And when he was in front, he would cast glances over his shoulder every few minutes, but never did he speak. In fact, it wasn't until they were boarding the plane that Eames actually _looked_ at him. Arthur found himself nodding back, as though reassuring him of his presence.  
Maybe Eames was worried about him running off again already. Another wave of guilt washed over him.  
As they sank into the hard, business class plane seats, Eames spoke.

"No running now, love."

Arthur glared at him in response.

"Is that why you've been so quiet? Have you been waiting for me to get up and run this whole time?"

Anger bubbled beneath his skin, threatening to burst out of him. There was difference between thinking it and having it verbally confirmed.  
Eames' smirk only infuriated him more.

"Come now, Darling. You can't blame me for being careful."

Damn him for being right. It was true that Arthur had wanted to bolt the entire time. All he had needed was a reason, and anything Eames had said could have easily become one. He leaned back in his seat, defeated.

"Fuck you, Eames."

He muttered as his eyes drifted closed. While he couldn't be entirely certain, he could have sworn he heard a chuckle just as sleep was taking him. A chuckle that had a distinctly British air.

-  
Arthur found himself walking out of the airport alone, trying his damndest to not look back. After all, that was the plan; lay low and ignore each other for a few months after the job. At least until they were sure it was safe to resurface. Well, resurface as much as they ever did, which wasn't much.  
He stood silently on the curb, waiting for a taxi to stop for him. A whole pantheon of emotions swirled around in his head, duking it out for dominance. Eventually he settled on relief. Relief made sense. Relief for Cobb, relief for successfully completely Inception (he even capitalized it in his head), relief from not landing to find an entire military police force waiting for them.  
Yeah, relief was good.

Finally, after a good five minutes of waiting, a cab pulled up and he slid in, giving the driver the address as he closed the door behind him.  
He was just adding a 'quickly, please' to the end of his request when the car jerked and the seat next to his shifted. Another voice started speaking, and he turned to find none other than Eames sitting next to him, grin firmly in place.

"Oh. Sorry, I thought it was free."  
-

Arthur started awake, his attention immediately grabbed by a sharp pain in his ribs. Which, he quickly realized, would be from Eames' finger jabbing at him. He opened his mouth to protest, to say something along the lines of 'the fuck, Eames?' But, Eames cut him off.

"We're landing, pet."

Arthur glared, but said nothing as he shifted upright. He supposed the good thing about having been in America was that he didn't need another damn immigration form. Thank God for small miracles.  
The journey through this airport was almost exactly like the previous one. The only difference being that Eames smiled when he periodically checked back over his shoulder. By the time they had finally hailed a taxi, Arthur was about ready to explode. For the first, what? eight?, eight years that he'd known him, he couldn't get Eames to shut up. And now, fuck, now he couldn't pry a word from his mouth if he had a goddamn crow bar. Twenty minutes into the car ride, and Arthur finally decided that he'd just have to be the one to speak first.

"Where, exactly, are we going?"

Eames laughed, turning slightly to face him with an incredulous eyebrow raised.

"Really, love? Where in God's name do you _think_ we're going? Dom's of course. Where else would we go?"

Still laughing, he finally let his eyes rest on the point man, who was once again glaring. Arthur was glad, albeit a bit grudgingly, to see the twinkle was present in the forger's eyes.

"Arthur, have you lost your touch?"

He asked teasingly. Arthur humphed and crossed his arms his arms tightly across his chest.

"No, Eames. I have _not_ lost my touch. I was merely double checking my information. How was I supposed to know whether or not you were going to drag me to some cheap motel first? Your priorities are always so out of order, I can never completely know for sure."

He growled, his glare growing sharper with every word. Eames, however, was still immune to his vicious looks. Some things never changed.

"Darling, I'm hurt. Wounded even. How could you insult my priorities like that?"

He asked, feigning devastation.  
The conversation ended there, with a last sharp glare from Arthur, leaving the atmosphere noticeably lighter for the remainder of the ride. That feeling shattered, however, as their destination came into view.  
Suddenly every single one of Arthur's doubts and nerves came back full force, punching him in the stomach with a fist full of nausea.

"Alright there, love? You're looking ill."

Had he been more alert, Arthur would have noticed the genuine concern in Eames' voice. But, as it was, all he heard was a distant question that may or may not have been directed at him.

"I- I'm fine. No, yeah, I'm fine."

He muttered, shaking his head to clear away the haze that had formed.  
His mind seemed to go completely blank as the cab stopped in front of the house. As he got out of the car, he was vaguely aware of Eames thanking and paying the cab driver. He was numb. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought that he should pull himself together flitted through.

Next thing he knew, he was at the front door, the cab long gone, and a more-than-a-little nervous Eames at his side, knocking firmly. That _was _Eames knocking, right?  
Distinct footsteps echoed in Arthur's ears as someone approached the door. A slow, icy fear crept up his spine as the steps got closer, and his whole body tensed from the inside out as the knob finally began to turn. Then, in a rather anticlimactic moment, the door opened to reveal a mildly frazzled looking Dom wearing only a white wife-beater and some lounge pants. He opened his mouth to speak, and what came out was not his voice at all.

"Arthur!"

That might have been because it didn't come from his mouth at all, but from somewhere inside. Suddenly, Arthur found himself with an armful of excited Ariadne.

"You're back! You're finally back!"

Arthur chuckled slightly, having finally regained his composure.

"Yeah. It's good to be back."


	19. Fischer

**AN**: I kinda sorta lost this chapter for a few days/hours...but I found it again so all is well. Now read, loyal followers! Read!

**Chapter 19**

"**Fischer"**

Arthur took two steps into the building before stopping and punching Eames in the face.

"Fuck it."

He said, and he ran away, never to be heard from again.  
Eames made good on his promise, Dom raised his kids alone, and Ariadne fucked Fischer because I hate the Cobb/Ariadne pairing.

The End.

…

NOT

**AN**: Okay, I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. 3 Now here's your chapter. Enjoy~

It was right about nine when they arrived, so the children were already in bed, and a large part of Arthur was grateful for that. He wasn't sure he could have handled the two little balls of energy. Of course, he hadn't exactly counted on Ariadne bursting out at him like some sort of overgrown eight year old.  
In the doorway, Cobb's shocked expression gave way to a warm smile and, when Ariadne finally disentangled herself, he stepped forward to give Arthur a firm hug of his own.  
Dom's arm slid around his shoulders in a brotherly fashion as he led him inside. Arthur glanced over his shoulder, oddly content to see a grinning Eames following him in.  
Cobb was talking, Arthur realized, filling him in on the detail of the case and updating him on how the children were doing. But it was all just a dull buzzing to Arthur. It didn't quite feel real. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a door click shut, and he suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that he was stuck there. As they passed the kitchen, he was vaguely aware of Jeff waving to him, a smirking Yusuf sitting next to him, drink in hand. Ariadne had disappeared to who knows where, and Cobb was still leading him through the house. Then he was telling him to sit and was asking him if he wanted anything.

"Water, please."

And, for a moment, it was finally quiet. Cobb was busy getting him a glass of water, Jeff and Yusuf were murmuring to each other in the kitchen, Eames was blessedly silent beside him, and Ariadne was missing for the time being.  
Arthur took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax into the moment. Suddenly he realized that it really _was_ good to be back.  
With a tiny genuine smirk, Arthur looked up just in time to see Ariadne return, dragging someone along behind her by the arm. Using his highly practiced self-control, he managed to hold back a gasp. Instead, he settled for staring inquisitively at the young architect, who was smiling despite the impressive shade of red staining her cheeks.

"Arthur, I'd like you to meet Robert. Robert, this is Arthur."

She said, gesturing between the two, a clear warning in her eye. Fischer stepped forward and firmly shook Arthur's hand. Cobb's timing was impeccable as he returned at that exact moment, Arthur's water in hand. Arthur quickly grasped it, replacing Fischer's hand with the glass.

"Pleasure to finally meet you, Arthur. Ari's told me all about you."

Arthur smiled and nodded, twirling his water glass.

"I'm sure _Ari_ has."

He said with a bit of a chuckle. He shot Ariadne a death glare, which she returned perfectly. Didn't she realize how dangerous this was? Bringing a former mark into their midst? Into their home? She was just _begging_ for an arrest warrant.  
Eames easily struck up conversation with the man, getting him distracted and keeping him busy. Using this opportunity, Arthur stood up and started walking towards the spare bedroom. As he passed Ariadne, he gently grabbed her by the elbow.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He whispered, not even looking at her. She nodded, setting her drink down on a nearby table as they passed.  
Arthur closed the door behind him and turned to the girl, frustration evident in his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't start relations with a former mark! That's not only foolish, but dangerous for all of us!"

He said, his voice a raised whisper, as though he were afraid of being overheard. Ariadne glared back at him, her stance firm.

"He doesn't remember any of us! He doesn't even remember Cobb! Or Mr. Charles, or whatever."

Arthur crossed his arms, standing up straighter. He didn't trust the situation at all, but it was obvious there was nothing he could say to change her mind.

"I hope you know what you're doing. I really want to trust you here, but I'm not sure about this."

Ariadne threw her arms up and turned away from him, walking towards the far wall before stopping and turning to face him again.

"You don't know if _you_ can trust _me_? I'm not the one who ran out on his team in the middle of a job, Arthur!"

She half yelled, her voice taking on the same loud whispering as Arthur's. Her words echoed in his head, morphing into Eames' voice as he was struck with a case of déjà vu. He sighed and dropped his arms.

"Fine. You've made your point. I'll drop it."

He conceded, looking anywhere but at her fiery brown eyes. She made some noise of approval and nodded. Arthur heard her sigh and was horribly confused for a moment. What was wrong now? He looked up to see her shaking her head softly. His eyebrow rose slightly, but he didn't ask. Knowing Ariadne she'd explain without any sort of prompt. She approached him, gently placing her hands on his biceps when he was within reach.

"That's just like you, Arthur. Disappear, worry us all to death, then come back and immediately start berating us."

She said softly, the faintest hint of annoyance tingeing her tone. She chuckled lightly to herself before dropping her arms and walking past him to the door. With her hand on the knob she looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Whatever happened, I'm glad you're back."


	20. Over

**AN**: Alright, so I completely and totally hate this chapter. I really really do. In all honesty, you could probably skip over this chapter and still make sense of the next two. There's one main reason that this chapter is a fail. And that is: I don't write smut. As a general rule, I don't do it. And yet, I gave it a go in this chapter. It's rushed and poorly written, but it's sex, so be happy. They finally fucking do it. Also, I'm dead tired, and totally haven't had a chance to proofread this, so sorry if this chapter's got more mistakes than normal or something. Also, sorry for taking so damn long. But, I did post another story, if you haven't seen that one. So, I'm going to stop rambling now. Enjoy. (Maybe)

**Chapter 20**

"**Over"**

Arthur sat down on the bed and hung his head. He never quite knew what to expect from their youngest recruit. One minute she was about to tear his head off, the next she was smiling at him like an affectionate older sister. He didn't understand women. Maybe that's why he was gay. Men were just easier. They generally only wanted one thing. It was always clean and simple with them. Well, not clean, but certainly simple. Until you met a guy like Eames, that is.  
Arthur had always been careful to separate relationships and hookups in his head. He preferred relationships, liked the idea of always having someone to go back to, of having someone who genuinely cared about you. But a relationship wasn't an easy thing to maintain in his line of work, so he relied on the occasional hookup to get him through. They were never satisfying and always left Arthur feeling awkward, but they served their purpose well enough.  
Eames, Arthur knew, preferred to keep his company simple and short lived. The man rather liked one night stands and anonymous sex. At least, that's what he led Arthur to believe. Right up until he followed him around the world two and a half times. That took commitment, which was a quality Arthur didn't really think Eames possessed. In fact, the whole idea that Eames may be interested in some sort of serious _relationship_ boggled Arthur's mind.  
That thought is what led to Arthur's simple belief that Eames did _not_, in fact, want that. He was just a hunter of sorts, and Arthur was the next rare game on his list. His next conquest. Arthur would be a fool to think Eames actually felt any affection towards him. He just wanted to shag his brains out. There was no other reasonable explanation for it.

The door slid open slowly, pulling Arthur from his thoughts. With a grim smile he realized how common an occurrence that was. For someone who claimed to be as paranoid as he said he was, he sure spent a lot of time spacing out.  
He looked up to see who it was on the other side of the door, and was somewhat disappointed to find it to be Eames. The older man was standing in the doorway almost shyly, as though he thought he was interrupting something. He shuffled in slowly, purposely leaving the door open behind him.

"Dom came looking for you. He thought you ran off again. I had to reassure him that you had not and that you were simply hiding in a spare bedroom. I don't think he properly believed me."

Eames said, keeping his gaze down, away from Arthur.

Arthur stared at him for a moment. That bastard. Using Cobb was a sneaky move. He knew he still felt guilty about leaving him.

"Very well, Mr. Eames. Let's fuck."

Eames raised an eyebrow in confusion, but said nothing.

Arthur strode to him, stopping mere inches from the other man. Pushing the door shut behind the other man, he glared hard into Eames' eyes.

"You seem confused."

Eames nodded.

"I said, 'Let's fuck.' How hard is that to understand?"

Eames couldn't help it. He smiled.

"As you wish, Darling."

And in an instant, Eames' lips were on his, mashing together in a messy kiss. There was no love or compassion in it, only lust and anger. Every time Eames tried to slow down, Arthur sped right back up again.  
The point man gripped Eames' neck firmly, locking him in place, while his other hand clenched the fabric of his shirt. Eames' hands were in Arthur's hair, tugging it into random odd angles. With one especially hard tug, Arthur's mouth fell open with a gasp, giving Eames all the invitation he needed to plunder with his tongue. The kiss quickly dissolved into a battle of teeth and tongue. At some point, the sharp taste of blood entered into the mix. It only served to fuel their primal passion further.

They broke for air, Arthur tilting his head back and taking quick, shallow gulps of oxygen while Eames latched onto his smooth white neck. Meanwhile, Eames' hands had successfully disentangled themselves from Arthur's hair and were making short work of removing his waistcoat. He left in hanging on the point man's shoulders as he then set his fingers to the unbuttoning of Arthur's shirt. The younger man had just enough of his senses to think to remove his tie, but a sharp slap from Eames stopped him. He glared at the shorter man, but Eames' simply took that moment to recapture his mouth in a violent kiss. Arthur was lost. Eames' hands were running down his chest and Eames' tongue was _rolling_ in his mouth and Eames' hips were grinding against his and Eames' smell was making him dizzy. Or was that the lack of oxygen? And holy hell, when did Eames lose his shirt? Arthur was falling. Falling backwards onto a soft, bouncy surface. The bed, he thought idly, before Eames' tongue did _that _again and his brain short circuited.

Eames was hot and hard above him, a frighteningly solid presence in his blurry state of mind.  
And then he was gone.  
Arthur's eyes shot open, sweeping the room as a brief sensation of horror set in.  
Fuck. Eames had gotten him right where he wanted him and left. This was all just Eames' sick payback. Lead him on until he was gasping and hard below him, then just leave him alone, wearing nothing but his waistcoat and tie. Wait, why the fuck was he only wearing his waistcoat and tie? Eames' had a disturbing sense of-

And Eames was back. And his tongue was right back on Arthur's. Holy fuck, the man's mouth was fucking sinful.  
Eames pulled back momentarily, and smirked, earning himself a sharp glare.

"Didn't think I would just leave you here, did you, pet?"

Arthur growled, dragging his blunt nails down Eames' back as he did so.

"Shut up and fuck me, Eames."

Eames sighed, but said nothing, quickly returning to the task at hand. Arthur glanced down to see what exactly Eames had grabbed.  
Awesome. He had a condom and some lube. In the middle of a quick and dirty fuck, he stopped to get a condom and lube. What a fucking gentleman.

A low, rumbling laugh interrupted his thoughts.

"Stop thinking so much, love."

Came Eames' voice from somewhere between his legs. Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by a slick digit slamming into him.

"Holy fuck."

Eames' chuckle was back, almost in time with the movements of his finger. Eames was quick about preparing him, rushing to get back to their frantic pace from earlier. Their lips reconnected, and Arthur honestly thought he could die happy right then and there.

He fell back on to the bed with a soft thump and only then realized that Eames had literally lifted him up by his tie.  
The fingers were gone. The mouth was gone. The warmth was gone. For one earth shattering moment, Eames was gone. Again.  
And then he was back with a vengeance, burying himself deep inside the point man in one brutal stroke.

Arthur would have cried out, if he hadn't of choked on his own gasp.

Eames' hands were all over him, sliding over his sweat slicked body like ice skaters at the Olympics as he set a demanding pace. How he managed to hit the prostate on the first fucking thrust, Arthur would never know.

They were mostly silent, with only the occasional breathy moan or gruff grunt. And, of course, the sound of skin slapping skin at a ridiculous pace. Silent, that is, until Eames, for some unknown reason, decided to speak.

"You haven't apologized yet, Arthur."

Eames' voice was rather well put together, considering the circumstances, but it was distant, slightly unattached.

Arthur's mind wasn't functioning. Sorry, does not compute. Try again later. Buh-bye.  
All he knew in that moment was Eames. Eames' smell burning his nostrils. Eames' hair tangled in his fingers. Eames' skin sliding under his hand. Eames' eyes boring into his own. Eames' mouth attacking his lips, neck, and chest. Eames' hot, pulsing cock ramming him hard and fast. Fuck. Eames. Eames. Eames.

"Fuck! Eames. I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry! Fuck!"

He saw stars, exploding into orgasm like some sort of fifteen year old virgin on his first night with someone else.  
He wasn't sure for how much longer Eames continued to fuck him. It could have been two thrusts, it could have been two hours. He didn't know. He was gone, floating somewhere in his own personal limbo. But, he did notice when Eames collapsed on top of him, hard and sweaty. And warm. Oh so comfortably warm. Eames pulled out and was gone for a moment of two, before dropping back down beside Arthur.

The younger man curled into Eames, snuggling into his side, before tensing suddenly and moving away. He was _not_ going to cuddle with Eames.

As they lay together in the afterglow, decidedly not touching, Eames shifted to look at the point man.

"Despite your excellent distraction methods, Darling, this isn't over yet."


	21. Open

**AN**: This is a bit of a short chapter, and, strangely enough, I wrote it before chapter 20. And, you lucky dogs get it the same day! Anyway, it kind of sucks, and it's mostly poorly conceived dialogue, so just bear with me. There's only one more chapter after this which should wrap everything up nicely. But until then, enjoy "Open."

**Chapter 21**

"**Open"**

Arthur groaned and rolled away from the older man. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he rubbed his face with his hands roughly.

"Fuck, Eames**. ** I apologized and we fucked. You got everything you wanted. How could this _not_ be over?"

He glared over his shoulder at the pillow next to Eames' head. Eames sat up then, leaning forward and staring at Arthur in disbelief.

"Everything _I_ wanted? I wanted to _talk_, Arthur! I don't know if you were raised in a cave somewhere, but _that_ was not talking."

He said, gesturing to the rumpled, dirty sheets as he spoke. Arthur forced himself not to follow the motions of his hand. He didn't think he could stomach seeing proof of what he'd just done. It was a one-time thing. Eames should have been satisfied. What else could he possibly want?

"Oh, give it up, Eames! You only want to talk so you can report back to Cobb. _Your _only interest in this was the idea of having sex with me! I'm just another notch on your belt. I get it. Now leave me alone."

He said, turning away from the older man again. Eames openly gaped at him. There was a moment of silence that was neither awkward nor comfortable. Finally, Eames spoke up.

"Is that really what you think? That I just wanted to bed you? You honestly believe that? Even after I chased you for a year and a fucking half?"

He voice started out soft, and rose in volume until he was almost yelling the last part. Hurt dripped from every word, and Arthur felt himself break again. Whipping around to face the Brit, he punched him. Hard.

"No! Of course I don't fucking believe that you were only interested in my body!"

He cried, attempting to glare at him through the traitorous tears that were building in his eyes.

"It's just easier to tell myself that. Easier than thinking for even a minute that you, the biggest fucking playboy alive, actually wanted _me_."

He whispered, more so to himself than to Eames, as he looked down at the blankets. The Brit shifted a bit, his own eyes softening slightly.

"And that's what scared me! I was afraid. There! Are you happy now? I admitted it. I was fucking scared. Scared of my own emotions. Scared that you might be serious. Scared that I wouldn't be able to control what was going on. I was scared, so I ran. Ran like the coward I am. Is that what you want to hear?"

Eames, who had been gently rubbing his jaw, stopped when Arthur started screaming again. Arthur knew he sounded broken and he knew Eames could hear it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He collapsed in on himself, falling to the bed in a heap, shuddering slightly. Eames was on him in an instant, rubbing soothing circles on his back and rocking him gently against his chest. And, for a moment, Arthur felt safe. But, of course, that feeling didn't last long.

"Get off!"

He screamed, throwing the older man's arms off him. To his utter dismay, Eames simply gripped him tighter.

"I don't need your sympathy! Leave me alone."

He continued, his anger dying with every word. He struggled against Eames' solid frame, trying desperately to shake him off, but the Brit held firm. Even when he managed to turn in his arms and physically strike the man, Eames didn't move. He took the blows silently, as if he didn't even feel them.  
Finally, Arthur gave up, too exhausted to fight any longer. And when he collapsed for the second time that night, Eames was there, still holding him like some sort of precious child.

"Arthur, please listen to me. If only for a minute, I need you to listen. I would never, _never,_ risk my relationship with you simply because I wanted in your pants. You're basically my only friend. More than that, you're the only person I can truly trust. Why would I throw that away? And I'll be honest, at first, I did just want a go at you, but then you opened your damn mouth and blew me away. Ever since then I've been waiting patiently for you to come around. In fact, I'd damn near accepted the fact that you never would. But I was alright with that, as long as you still paid some sort of attention to me. I didn't mean to scare you away. And that night, the night you left, do you know what I wanted to talk about? Well, of course you don't. I just wanted to apologize. For being so immature. I _was_ hoping we could go back to being friends. That's all. Not that you would admit that we were friends at all. But just look where that attempt at a talk went. I was kind of hoping this one would go a bit better. All in all, I guess it did. At least you're still here. I mean-"

Arthur groaned beneath him and turned slightly, placing his hand tiredly on the older man's face.

"Eames? Shut up."


	22. Cliché

**AN:** Holy shit I feel unbelievably terrible for making all you lovely people wait so long for the last chapter. I mean, I kind of just left it hanging there, didn't I? Well, here it is. The wrap up. The finale. The aftermath. (However, there is an "extended" ending coming after this chapter.)  
Oh, and keep an eye out for my other stories. I can't seem to finish anything, but I've got a couple plot running around in my head for your enjoyment.  
Now, without further ado, I give thee, Chapter 22.

**Chapter 22**

"**Cliché"**

The house was silent, the sun just beginning to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow throughout the room. He sighed softly and rolled away from the window, hoping that maybe –just maybe- he'd be able to get another hour or so of sleep.

Against his will, his eyes slid open, quickly taking in his surroundings. It was nothing special, his room. Just a typical bedroom, nothing too personal to connect it to him. Nothing, that is, except for the man lying in the bed beside him. A tiny smile spread across his lips as he watched the Brit sleep. His eyes trailed downwards as he traced the lines of his tattoos lightly with his finger. Eames stirred then, sleepy blue eyes striking in the morning light.

"G'mornin', love."

He slurred slightly, smiling lazily at the younger man. Arthur smiled back warmly, nodding his head awkwardly on the pillow.

"Good morning, Mr. Eames."

Eames laughed, his rich chuckle fading into a long yawn as he sat upright in bed. Leaning over, he placed a quick kiss to Arthur's temple before dragging himself out of bed.

"Where are you going? We've got nowhere to be and it's usually _you_ who complains about _me _leaving before what you so eloquently call our morning shag."

Eames laughed once more, pausing momentarily in pulling up his pants to do so. With his lounge pants firmly in place, he turned to face the younger man, signature charming smile in place.

"Well, I thought breakfast might be nice this morning. It is a special occasion, you know."

Arthur cocked his head slightly, sitting up in bed to better look at the Brit.

"What do you mean, 'special occasion?'"

Eames scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully as he turned away and started out towards the kitchen.

"You're hopeless, Darling. Absolutely hopeless."

Arthur threw a pillow through the door after him, but the half-heartedly thrown projectile missed by a long shot. Sighing, he stretched languidly, willing life into his sleeping muscles. Might as well get up, then, if Eames was going to be difficult.  
Sliding out of bed, he pulled on his own pair of pajama pants and an old tee, never quite as comfortable as Eames about running about half naked. Dressed, he shuffled his way to the bathroom, lazily running through his normal morning routine. He emerged awake and refreshed, striding purposefully to the kitchen, which greeted him with tantalizing promises of breakfast.

"What'd you manage to whip up so quickly?"

He asked, coming to stand behind the tanned muscular man at the stove. Eames answered with an amused chuckle.

"It's bacon and eggs, love. Only takes fifteen minutes to make."

Arthur took another deep breath, inhaling both the scent of the food and the older man before him.

A little while later, as they sat down to breakfast, Eames raised his class, clearing his throat as he did.

"A toast. To two whole weeks of living together in this hotel room you call home."

He said, dead serious if not for the giveaway twinkle in his eyes.

"It's a flat, and you know it. And that's honestly what you call a special occasion? Try again when we get to two years."

Arthur bit back, raising his glass just the same. Eames chuckled, deep and low, sending pleasant shivers up Arthur's spine.

"Are you saying you plan on staying around for the next two years, love?"

He asked; a soft smile on his lips, his eyes guarded. When had this playful morning turned serious?

"Of course I am, Eames. You know that."

He tried to reassure the older man, reaching out and gently squeezing his arm. Eames nodded, but the thin veil over his eyes remained.  
The rest of breakfast passed with only minor small talk between them. Afterward, as Eames cleaned up, Arthur came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Eames' waist and resting his head on the slightly shorter man's shoulder.

"We should talk."

He whispered, carefully reaching out and turning the water off. Eames turned in his arms to face him, face questioning.

"Are you sure?"

Arthur nodded slowly. He was completely sure. It wasn't fair of him to expect Eames to just pretend that the last two years hadn't happened. The "talk" they'd had at Cobb's house had been…well, nothing really. It hadn't accomplished much of anything, except to expose Arthur as a coward and Eames as a nervous rambler. Sliding his hands down to meet Eames', he led the older man to their living room and sat him down on the couch. Silence fell between them; Eames waiting for Arthur to start, and Arthur wondering where to begin.

"When I said I was scared, I wasn't lying. No, don't interrupt me."

He said, cutting Eames off when he opened his mouth to respond.

"Let me finish. So, I was. I was afraid of perhaps getting hurt again. I trusted you with my life, Eames, just not my heart. Not at the time. As far as I knew, you were Mr. Playboy-Never-Sleeps-With-The-Same-Person-Twice-Eames. For a very long time I repressed any trace of feelings I felt towards you. It wouldn't work between us, I kept telling myself. We were too different. Then, suddenly, you were coming on to me. Hard. At first, I thought it just to be your usual teasing, and I accepted that. But then, that night in the hotel room? You _laughed _at me. And I snapped. I couldn't handle that, so I fell back into my comfort zone with you. Anger. I hoped that would deter you, but as it was, it only seemed to make you change into something I didn't like. And when you said you wanted to talk- I just couldn't find myself. I had to get away. So I left. I never realized that it would hurt you like it did. And for that, I am sorry. Because, I think, just maybe, I might be sort of kind of in love with you."

Arthur took a deep breath, allowing his final statement to sink in fully. Despite everything he'd said, he still felt as though he hadn't truly explained himself at all.

"I'm not leaving, Eames. Not until you make me. Not matter how cliché that sounds, it's true."

There was a pause during which Arthur carefully watched Eames, and Eames just as carefully watched Arthur.

"Don't leave me alone, Eames."

Finally, Eames began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle and grew into a deep rich laugh. All the while, Arthur looked on indignantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, pet. I don't meant to belittle your _wonderful _speech there, it's just- the last two years have had so many completely 'cliché' moments and you're choosing _now _to start calling it as such? Darling, this whole damn thing has been so ridiculously _cliché _that I'm not entirely convinced that we're not just some teenage girl's sickly sweet fantasy."

He paused to face the younger man more fully and gently take his hands in his.

"But, I do thank you for opening up to me- or at least attempting to. I appreciate it. And I just might be soft of kind of in love with you, too. Maybe."

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss Arthur lightly. Arthur smiled back, happy to have finally gotten the weight off his chest. And, admittedly, he was relieved to feel as though he'd finally pulled the knife from his friend's back.  
They sat together in comfortable silence for a long while.  
Finally, Eames pulled himself away and stood, much to Arthur's dismay.

"I'm only going to finish cleaning the kitchen, love. I promise."

He said with a chuckle as he moved towards the kitchen. Arthur watched him go, a soft, fond smile gracing his lips.

"Eames?"

He called out, causing the older man to stop in the doorway and turn around, smirk firmly in place.

"I really do love you, you know."

Eames chuckled.

"I know, Darling, I know."

-_The End_-


	23. Extended Ending

**AN**: So this, my lovelies, is the "actual" ending, as I like to call it. If you liked the cheesy, fluffy, mushy, happy ending in the last chapter, then feel free to not read this, as it's a bit of a downer. It actually ties itself into my other story "This Goodbye is For You."  
NOW, this story has reached its close. This is the final chapter to be posted to DLMA. It's been fun, and it shall be missed. So, read on, faithful followers, read on.

**Chapter 23**

"**Extended Ending"**

Aka: The ending everyone will hate me for.

Arthur smiled, ducking his reddening face slightly as Eames disappeared through the door.  
Sighing, he leaned back in his seat, happily relaxing into the cushions. That had gone well, all things considered.

"Arthur, love? We seem to be out of dish soap. Would you mind terribly if I went out for a bit to get some more?"

Arthur chuckled to himself slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, Eames. Go right ahead. You're not the one that runs away."

He called back with a laugh. Eames appeared in the living room then- shirt already one, shoes in hand. He sat down next to the younger man, quickly slipping on his shoes. Standing, he placed a chaste kiss to Arthur's lips, muttering a good bye as he began to pull away. Suddenly feeling playful, the thinner man grabbed Eames by the neck before he could get away, dragging him down into a deeper, much more passionate kiss. Pulling back, Eames smiled down at the raven haired Point Man. Had Arthur been looking closer he may have seen a hint of regret in his eyes.

"I won't be long. I promise."

He said fondly, voice soft as he spoke, before turning and quickly making his exit.  
Just over an hour later, Arthur's phone rang. Without bothering to check the number, he put the device to his ear.

"Forget something?"

He teased, smile already in place.

"Mr…Clementine? This is Dr. Learin."

Arthur nodded before remembering that he couldn't be seen over the phone.

"Ye-yes. Yes, this is Arthur. What is it?"

The doctor seemed to wait an eternity and a half before responding.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news about Mr. Eames. You need to get to the hospital. Immediately."

Arthur's heart dropped.

"What- what happened? Is he okay? Wha-"

"Mr. Clementine, please calm down. Mr. Eames was in a car accident and sustained multiple serious injuries. I'm afraid he doesn't have much time."

"Calm down? What do you mean he doesn't have much time?"

He wasn't screaming. No. And he definitely wasn't crying. He was Arthur Clements (or Clementine, for all current intents and purposes). He never fell so low as to cry over nothing.  
The doctor was speaking on the other end of the line, but Arthur wasn't listening. Snapping his phone closed, he sprinted out the door.

Fifteen minutes and one extremely tense cab ride later, he was at the hospital, flying through the glass double doors barefoot and crazed.

"Dr. Learin. Get me Dr. Learin."

He demanded, slamming his hands down on the counter of the front desk. The surprisingly calm nurse complied immediately, and not thirty seconds after she sent the page did the man himself appear.

"Mr. Clementine? Dr. Learin."

He said, nodding curtly to the obviously distressed man.

"I'm really very sorry, Mr. Clementine, but Mr. Eames didn't make it."

Arthur gaped at him. He had to be lying. This was all some sort of sick joke. There was absolutely no way Eames was gone. Not that quickly. Not that suddenly.

"Di-didn't make it? You're not- you can't be- he's not- he can't-I- No. Just no."

He muttered, collapsing into a rather conveniently placed plastic chair, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss."

The doctor said, nodding his head once again before turning and leaving the young man alone. Completely and totally alone.

Three days later, Cobb came to see him. The next day brought Ariadne, Geoff, Fischer, and Yusuf to the closed casket funeral. It took a month before Arthur could spend the night in his flat. Another two weeks before he could do it without drinking. Two months later, Arthur took a job with Cobb. Immediately afterwards, he took another. And then another. Anything to get away from the memory of the Brit. Anything to get away from him. That is, until he found him again in a dream.

-The _Real_ End-


End file.
